Mission to Britain

by J Eugene Porter

  “Good to hear that our Mr. Wipple has things in hand. It is always good to hear such things about one’s men. I cannot be watching all of them, and with only one eye, it is very difficult indeed.” Again, the big smile came out, and Lieutenant Wipple smiled at the words said about him.

  “I wanted to meet you and your officers before you departed our fair island. I have heard so much about your team. It appears everyone on the Defense Committee from the prime minister to my old friend Air Vice Marshal Tedder wants to know your whereabouts and how you are doing. To say I have received numerous communiques about you would not be out of the question. Also, Air Vice Marshal Tedder asked me to tell you that certain arrangements have been made to move some equipment to his command. He said you would know what that was all about.”

  The Wing Commander did his best wink with his one eye and then smiled at Jameson that he knew about the plans to ship planes to Malta. “He also told me personally to tell you thanks, and he owes you a major favor in the future. This was odd, but I know him well. You must have given him something of great value. So, if the Air Vice Marshal says you are a friend, you must be one of mine as well.”

  He turned to Wipple, ordering him to the bar. “Go over there and bring this table a round of drinks and tell them to place it on my tab. Oh, yes, I understand that Captain Flannigan enjoys whisky, so tell the sergeant behind the bar to pull out my private bottle and bring it over as well.”

  Wipple went off on his mission as the wing commander continued his one-way conversation. “Fine young man from a good family. Wanted to be a pilot but he is the type that gets air sickness, so he did not last long in training. But he is learning to be a meteorologist, and we need them badly. One of our chaps here has him under his wing, and he is now getting the hang of forecasting and the like. We need warriors, but we also need scientists, accountants, logistics specialists, and people to build things.”

  He turned toward Colonel Acker and recalled a past introduction, “Colonel, I think we have met at least once. Aren’t you the chap who is going to start building and supplying these Yank bomber bases?”

  “Yes, Wing Commander, building is part of the job, but for now, we are just trying to figure out what we need and where it should go. It’s the opinion of several of your top people and our general staff that we will need to build over one hundred facilities and have some half million men on the ground to support any action we take against the Germans. Your people have been incredibly helpful in giving us their best and worst experiences, so we are learning from each other fast.”

  The wing commander’s bottle arrived at the table, and he passed glasses to everyone at the table, including James who took it without showing he was not supposed to have any of the dark brown liquid. The wing commander offered a toast, “Gentlemen, may we all find peace at the end of this show and live in peace for the rest of our lives. I give you the King and President Franklin Roosevelt.” Everyone downed the whisky which choked James. He did not let on, but felt the burn as it descended. He looked at the glass carefully and summed up his feelings by thinking to himself, this could become addictive.

  The rest of the night passed quickly with Jameson, Acker, and Wing Commander Parsons talking shop about building and supplying bases and the rest of the officers talking planes and which one was the best for each specific job. James and Wipple, being the youngest, started to talk more to each other.

  James found out Wipple was a graduate of Oxford and his family was in the shipping business, which was not a good enterprise to be in during a war. He told James that most of his family’s workers were off to war or some other war industry and how price controls were saving the family’s fortunes by keeping the business afloat. Wipple informed his new American friend that he had failed flight training and how it made him angry until he was assigned to RAF Prestwick where he went to work for the wing commander.

  Wipple then went into the story about how Parsons had been shot down in the Battle of Britain on four occasions, but the last one in late September 1940 had him bailing out while on fire. He lost an eye, and his face was badly burned, but he came back to work within six months to do what he could for the war effort. He was a great leader of men and knew how to talk to everyone from the pilots to the maintenance men and gifted at organization. His job at Prestwick utilized all his skills. The Wing Commander realized, Wipple informed James, that he would never fly again, but he wanted to be around pilots and planes and where else better than a major airbase.

  Just before midnight with the party still in progress, a sergeant appeared at the front door with a message bag. He approached Parsons directly and saluted. “Sir, urgent for you,” He pulled an envelope from the bag and handed it to the wing commander, who then opened it and told the sergeant, “Thank you. Tell flight operations to prepare that big American bird to fly at first light if they can round up the pilots.” The sergeant turned and left the room.

  “Gentlemen,” the wing commander said, “it appears you have received more good fortune. Orders have arrived for you to depart tomorrow morning as soon as we find the crew to get you on your way back to America. Lieutenant Wipple, get over to the operations tower and pull together the latest weather for Iceland and on to Gander. Also, check to see if we can get some food and drinks for the flight.”

  Wipple came to attention. “Sir, shall I tell Ops which plane is going out with these gentlemen, so we can get fuel trucks dispatched to the correct hanger?”

  “Of course, Lieutenant, tell them it is hanger twenty-one, and it is the big bird, the Boeing named Navajo.”

  Major Brock became excited and asked, “Sir, you said Navajo, correct?”

  “Yes, Major, it is the one with the word Navajo on its nose. Strange thing to call a plane.”

  “I agree, sir, but this is one of the five TWA Boeing 307 Stratoliners, and they were all named after American Indian tribes. I didn’t see it here. I sure would have loved to crawl over it and talk to the pilots. Must be some of my old TWA friends.”

  “Major, I think you are on the roster for this flight as well, so you are going to enjoy the ride and will have many hours to walk about the plane and talk to the crew. Gentlemen, I think we should call it a night. We will schedule your plane for an hour after dawn which will allow time for the morning fog to break up somewhat. Now, remember, this is Scotland so that an early morning flight may mean tomorrow night. We will see how things break in the morning.”

  Everyone thanked the wing commander for his hospitality and his attention to detail. If the plane could take off in the morning, they were sure he would make it happen. Colonel Acker wished the two ferry command pilots bon voyage. He then spoke to Jameson about his concerns for getting the logistics right for all the planned deployments on what they were now calling the ETO or European Theater of Operations. Jameson told him he understood the concerns and had some of his own based on what he saw at Roseneath. Finally, everyone left the club, and the duty Marines from the team were waiting for them outside the club. Jameson told them to round up the rest of the men and prepare for a morning flight. They were going home.

  Part 5

  21

  9 April 1942

  Office of Admiral Willson

  Washington, D.C.

  • United States-Philippine forces on Bataan surrender to the Japanese.

  Things were getting worse each day. The news of an impending surrender by Gen. Edward King of the garrison on Bataan was heartbreaking but not surprising. Most of the generals and admirals in the high command had expected it sooner rather than later. The reports were getting worse with each passing day. The men were starving and running out of ammunition, medical supplies, and fuel.

  Over the past several days, Admiral Willson was besieged with requests for additional support, but the senior admirals knew there was nothing they could do except send in supplies onboard submarines which were totally inadequate for the job. But they were able to rescue men who were vital to the war effort. Many avia
tors and highly trained technicians had come out the past few months as well as nurses and civilian administrators.

  The last members of the special intelligence group known as Station CAST left the day before on the Seadragon headed for Australia. This last group of cyber experts—three officers and eighteen enlisted men—were vital to the ongoing war effort. They were experts in Japanese communications and had participated in breaking the Japanese naval code. More importantly, they understood the nuances of the Japanese language and the intricacies of their coding methods. They would join other specialists who had been evacuated in the previous months and established a new organization known as Station BELCONNEN located in Melbourne, which also included Australian intelligence personnel. This new outpost would work in conjunction with the people at Station HYPO in Honolulu and the headquarters staff in Washington to decipher and interpret Japanese communications.

  Admiral King made this extraction a top priority and informed Admiral Nimitz these men must be rescued at all costs and were not to be captured by the Japanese. Their knowledge, he had informed Willson, was worth all the ships sunk at Pearl Harbor. He wanted updates on their progress and was to be notified of any new developments in their rescue. King had also asked to be informed about the travels of Captain Jameson’s team. He wanted to finalize plans that were an outgrowth of the team’s reports and needed to know if there were any additional ideas to be added to his strategic plans. Willson had also wanted to get the team back to the U.S. to help on the operational orders for the new anti--submarine efforts, including coastal convoys and the inclusion of the army bombers into an integrated air/sea command structure.

  Willson picked up his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart.

  A voice answered on the second ring. “Commander Delmont, speaking.”

  “Delmont, this is Admiral Willson. I need your help.” Willson was about to say more but was interrupted by the commander.

  “Who are you trying to find, Admiral?” Delmont was a pro at helping senior commanders at Old Navy and knew exactly how to find out things no one else could.

  “Delmont, I need to get a fix on Captain Frederic L. Jameson and his team. They left Prestwick, Scotland, on April 7. We have not heard from them and need to know where they are and when they will be here. The chief wants this information yesterday if you get my meaning.”

  Willson knew Commander Delmont was a career administrative type. He had been passed over for promotion to captain on several occasions, but everyone knew that as an administrator, there was no one better in the navy. Willson thought Delmont did not care about the promotions or the status but did care about getting things done on time and correctly. He wished he had more men like Delmont working in Washington and fewer prima donnas.

  “Admiral, let me make a few calls, and I’ll get right back to you.”

  Before Willson could say anything, the line went dead. He smiled knowing Delmont was burning someone’s ass for answers, which was all he wanted.

  Ten minutes later, the phone rang. A junior aide announced Commander Delmont was on the line. The aide knew Delmont’s calls were in direct response from a request of Willson and these calls should never be stopped or diverted.

  “What did you find out, Commander?” Willson had a pencil in his hand and a notepad ready because he was going to get a lot of information fast from the perfectionist Commander Delmont.

  “Admiral, it appears that your boys are stuck in Gander. They arrived in heavy fog after a quick flight from Scotland with a fuel stop in Iceland. They were lucky to get in before the airport closed to traffic. Otherwise, they would be back in Iceland or at one of the emergency fields in Greenland. Weather conditions are still poor, and the boys in flight operations think it will be tomorrow before they fly out. The plane will go to the ferry base in Maine. From there they will pick up another flight and with luck would arrive here in two, possibly three days.”

  Willson jotted a few notes and checked the calendar knowing Admiral King wanted his whiz-kid back under his control. “Delmont, why can’t this plane fly directly here from Gander? It is a big one, or am I mistaken?”

  Delmont looked at his notes which included tail numbers, flight schedules, manifests and available connecting flights he had received from his Army Air Corps contact. “Sir, the plane in question is one of the recently requisitioned Stratoliner’s with a hell of a range. I believe it could make it here without a problem but is due into Maine and has to be turned around back to Scotland as soon as possible. These planes and the Boeing Clippers are the only big planes we have until the Douglas C-54s become available in the fall.”

  Willson thought about the problem then picked up the directory he kept on his desk containing the names and telephone numbers of all the generals and admirals in Washington. As he looked through the names, he said, “Commander, I’m going to make a few calls to some Air Corps people and see if I can make this work. Tell your army buddy to keep you posted on where that plane is and when it takes off. I expect it will fly straight to Washington.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Delmont was probably already calling his army contact with instructions. Willson expected regular calls from the commander until the moment the plane landed in Washington.

  Willson picked up his phone and called Brigadier General Harold George, the commander of the Air Transport Command.

  The phone was answered by a sergeant in the general’s office, and when he heard an admiral wanted to talk to his boss, the sergeant quickly complied but with a heads up to the general to let him know that a navy bigwig was calling.

  “This is General George. How may I be of assistance to the navy today?”

  “General, this is Admiral Willson, and I’m calling on behalf of Admiral King.” Willson let the tidbit seep in before continuing to make sure he had the general’s rapt attention.

  “General, I will be brief and to the point. There’s a plane sitting on the ground in Gander right now waiting for the fog to go away. I know that only God can help us in removing the fog, but once it’s lifted, I have a favor to ask.”

  General George did a quick laugh at the joke. He had pulled out his listing of the top admirals and generals in Washington, quickly learning Admiral Willson was the chief of staff to the chief of Naval Operations. Any request Willson made was like a request from the head of the navy. General George replied “Admiral, it seems that the Air Corps and the navy both have problems with fog. You are correct, sir, we have no control over it. But, as you say, when the fog lifts, sometimes good things happen. Tell me what you need, sir, and I’ll be glad to help.”

  “Thank you, General, for your generous offer of help. I don’t want to cause any undue problems for the Air Transport Command. You and your people have been of considerable help to us, and we look forward to a great relationship throughout this war. What I need is to have this plane fly direct from Gander to Washington. I have been told the normal destination is in Maine then the plane returns to Prestwick, but we need the men onboard this aircraft now. If I had a plane available, I would have it meet your plane in Maine to get our people right back here. But our transports are scattered around the country, and I fear these men would get stuck in the backwoods looking for a ride home. Can you help us out, General?”

  General George wrote down the information about the flight from Scotland and noted that it was one of the very few Boeing C-75s that existed. The admiral was correct about the need to turn the plane around and send it flying back to Britain. But he also knew whoever was on board his transport must be a highly prized or a needed member of the CNO’s staff. It was a good idea for the sake of army/navy cooperation that diverting a plane was not a major problem, and if he could win some points from the chief of staff to Admiral King, it would be icing on the cake. Favors were also needed from the navy and having a credit on his side of the ledger was always a good thing.

  “Admiral, I don’t see any reason that this plane cannot fly direct to Washington. I will signal Gander and inform
them of this change of orders. As soon as I receive confirmation of their take-off, I will get back to you with an ETA for Washington. Is there anything else I can do for the navy, sir?”

  “General, let us know if there is anything we can do for the Air Corps and it will be done, if possible. We should arrange a time to meet, say at the Army Navy Club to build on this new relationship with a toast to the Long Grey Line.”

  Willson always enjoyed working up new relationships and so far, in this war, he had met many generals unknown to him and just like General George, he was familiar with him but had never met him. The command of the ATC may not be glamorous like overseeing a strategic bombing air wing in the European Theater, but it was going to become one of the most important organizations in winning the war. Planes had already shown their importance in moving men and material, and with new larger transports such as the C-54 coming out and the huge number of C-47s and C-46s being built, the airlift capacity would become even more important to the war effort.

  Good to his word, General George called in one of his top aides. He explained the need for the C-75 Stratoliner—fog bound in Gander, Newfoundland—to be dispatched directly to Washington and to let him know when it took off and when it was expected to land in Washington. He also asked the aide to get a copy of the plane’s manifest, so he could make a note of who was so important to the chief of Naval Operations that they would ask to divert a plane from its normal flight plan.

  Admiral Willson informed Admiral King about the delay in Gander and how the Air Transport Command would bring the plane direct to Washington. King appreciated the update and made a note about the interservice cooperation Willson received from the Air Corps. He communicated this to General Arnold and General Marshall. Both liked hearing how the services worked together to win the war, instead of fighting amongst themselves.